The Human
by lavira.rose
Summary: The first rose arrives on a dank, gloomy morning. Dipper thinks it's an accident. Dipper has gained a reputation for being one of the few able to handle demons. This leads to a lot of trouble he never wanted: a deal with the devil; a kidnapper, multiple murderers, and a few war criminals pursuing him - romantically, he thinks; and his ex, one Bill Cipher, attempting to win him back


Cross posting this from my tumblr amaranthephemera and my AO3 (Lavira Rose, just like this account). This was based on a post on tumblr I made about a "demonic reality tv show" and it's as ridiculous as anticipated but also Emotional tbh. And uh... rated M for a very good reason. If you want to read more before it's published publicly, you can check out my Pate r e on page.

* * *

Dreaming of Bill is never a good sign. But, for once, it's evident that this isn't some twisted vision built by the man himself, it's just Dipper's memories and worries blending into some strange nightmare. Now that he thinks about it, he can't recall the last time he _hasn't_ dreamed of Bill in some sense: seen images of his true form, the soft planes of his mortal flesh, or his bright, bright eye. It's pathetic for his ex to be such a prominent part of his life and psyche but there's not much he can do about it, he supposes.

Bill has been his enemy, his friend, his lover - he's always been in Dipper's life since they first met.

Bill is paler than usual, his skin still dark but milky in the starlight. He's kneeling on Dipper's bed, gangly, all sharp angles, his fingers curled around a rose. His thumb brushes over the petals and down the stem; Bill coos as he pricks it on the briars, holding his hand out so Dipper can see the blood beading on the pad of his thumb.

"Y'know," he begins, voice lilting in that teasing way that always grates on Dipper's nerves, "I really didn't mean for this to happen."

Dipper has had this dream a million times, a memory dredged up by his mind more than a fantasy, but the roses are new. He tells himself it's just stress, that this isn't real, but he can smell the roses, can taste them on his tongue.

Dipper feels a sudden rush of nausea, his head growing light.

"I can still live here, right?" Bill asks, not even hopeful, simply assuming. His eyes are bright and when he tilts his head just so, he looks like a boy. Dipper can do nothing more than stare, his anxiety rising to his throat like bile, choking him. "Dipper?"

There are so many roses and they smell so, so strongly he feels ill. He tells Bill to get rid of them and the demon whines, pouting. Dipper feels like he can't breathe.

Bill stands bare before him, cold and beautiful, "But you said…"

So many roses. When he moves, they seem to spring up in his shadow, all so flawless it's sickening. He touches Dipper's lips but he can't feel the usual chill of Bill's skin, can't see the amusement in his eyes, and he doesn't smell of fallen snow or mint or the damn cloves he always has on him, the ones he rolls around on his tongue, sometimes slipping them into Dipper's mouth during kisses. Instead, everything is roses. Their scent is so overwhelming he can hardly breathe.

"Bill?"

"You said I could always stay," he whispers, and his breath smells sweet and toxic. Dipper wants to say no but Bill leans in closer, face unreadable, and his words seem to slip away. Dipper feels like a pinned butterfly, trapped beneath Cipher's gaze, and he can hardly breathe with the cloying scent of roses filling the air. "I want to always stay," Bill persists. He kisses Dipper, chaste and slow, and his lips are oddly soft. His breath spills over Dipper's lips and the scent is carried with it, filling his mouth, his lungs.

It's not Bill.

* * *

The first rose arrives on a dank, gloomy morning. Dipper thinks it's an accident.

It has been raining since last night when the sky grew darker and darker until the clouds blotted out the stars and the full moon was swallowed up. The rain was so loud against the panes, Dipper could hardly sleep. Thunder, cold and hollow in the distance, crept into his bones, leaving him antsy and just as empty. Now, in the thin, gray light of morning, the rain has slowed, no longer a relentless torrent but a weak sputtering.

It's somehow more dispiriting this way.

Beyond reluctant to get out of bed, Dipper feels far too numb and tired to even think about going to class or working around the shack. It's freezing, the early fall air seeping through the walls, and there's a surreal quality brought by the cries of a distant phoenix-fox and the racket of what Dipper is sure is the gnomes getting into the trash again. He curls up on his side, pressing his face into the sheets as if he can block out the rising sun. He thinks he deserves another hour of sleep.

When he woke, it was from a restless sleep that left him feeling worse for wear, dazed almost, and, most of all, out of place. Drawn out of his dream, one which he now can't remember, by some sense unclear, he feels as if he's missing something. He wants to bury himself in the pillows and just forget the nagging suspicion that trouble is coming his way.

Goosebumps prickle up his neck and he shudders, rubbing them away, leg jumping to keep warm. The attic is always colder than any other part of the house but today it's unbearable; he's shivering beneath his thin blankets and thinner sheets despite still being in his clothes from yesterday.

Blearily looking to Mabel's side of the room, half expecting her to be there with him, his chest feels tight when he finds it barren. The posters, crafts, and stuffed animals are all gone, and it feels wrong. Of course she's not here, he feels stupid for expecting her to be as she returned to school yesterday morning. There's an ache that's already growing in his chest in her absence. He knows Mabel is fine, that she's back in the dorm safe and sound - she checked in with him as soon as she arrived, after all, knowing he'd be worried - but he still misses her and worries.

It's too cold for Dipper to stay here any longer so he slips out of bed yawning and stumbling, almost tripping over his too-long jeans. It's barely dawn but the sun will soon be up and Soos will arrive, ready for work. Dipper should get the coffee ready and go ahead with opening the store himself, knowing Soos will, no matter what, be later than the guests.

Soos still runs the store but, now that he's married and has a son, he resides in town, leaving Dipper to his own devices in the shack. It's a favorable arrangement considering the only money Dipper makes is from odd jobs around town and the occasional article published on obscure sites about the paranormal and various conspiracy theories. By staying in his grunkles' shack, he doesn't have to worry about rent though Stan tried to make him pay, of course; Ford saved Dipper from bartering with him, saying Dipper will never have to pay so long as he continues to pursue an education, which he does eagerly.

It works well this way: Dipper staying in the old cabin while studying, writing, exploring, and, in many ways, starting where Ford left off. And he's happy.

He's doing what he loves. He's happy.

Casting one last glance in the direction of Mabel's bed, Dipper takes a deep breath and heads downstairs, still shivering. Coffee sounds like heaven right about now.

* * *

The kitchen is a mess of papers, books, and piles of dirty dishes Dipper still hasn't gotten around to cleaning. Mabel spruced the place up a little while she was visiting but it's still chaotic. It's starting to get to Dipper, maybe because he's not currently wrapped up in a project meaning there's nothing to keep his mind focused on. Right now, in the quiet of the empty shack with nothing to keep him occupied, he's alone with himself and he hates it.

Now that he's got nothing big keeping him distracted, the state of his home seems much worse. The squeaky hinges grate on his nerves, the sputtering of the ice machine makes his head ache, and the draft makes him disturbingly frustrated.

He feels like he's going to come out of his skin.

He feels disgusted with himself in this place. He hardly has any homework, any _real_ work, or even that much to do around town yet he can't keep his home clean. He can't bring himself to do a single dish.

Standing in the middle of this mess, curling his toes against the cold floor, and tugging the sleeves of his flannel, Dipper feels hollow. It's a sensation like being eaten from the inside out, a heaviness filling his chest, aching, like the absence of anything is the biggest burden in the world. Everything seems much darker without Mabel here, less hopeful, and he's suddenly exhausted, particularly with himself.

He wonders if this is how Ford felt after McGucket left and he was all alone. Terribly alone. The thought, unwanted, hounds him sometimes. He pushes it from his mind, rubbing his eyes roughly, and continues with what he was doing despite how everything in him is telling him to simply crawl back into bed.

Fumbling with the coffee grinds, Dipper spills some across the counter and the machine refuses to open. Hands shaking, he fights with it for a moment, struggling to get the top to flip open the way it should only for the spoon in his hand to fall from his fingertips. He hisses, drawing his hand away from the machine to find his skin bloody around the ragged edges of his nail, bitten painfully short. Feeling inept and exhausted, Dipper blinks back tears.

Taking a lurching step towards the table, Dipper jerks a chair closer and collapses into it. His tears are burning in the cold.

He's not happy. He tries to be - tries quite desperately to at least hide his distress - but it's not working. He has every reason to be and he's not; it makes him disgusted with himself.

He _should_ be happy.

He's in a place he loves, doing what he loves, amongst the people he loves. He should be happy. He wants for nothing, has the job he's always wanted, has the house he always wanted, is going to the school he always wanted to yet still he feels empty, his life unfulfilled.

"It's called foreclosure," Mabel once said before babbling away about what she's learning in her classes, "You're doing what you think you have to, not what you want to! You know you don't have to do anything for everyone to love you and be proud, right?"

But he laughed off Mabel's concern because Gravity Falls was his solace growing up and it's his solace now. Dipper has always wanted to be here. This is the place that made him who he is.

He wants to be here.

* * *

"Hey, dude!" Soos is, as usual, cheery as he comes into the shop, shaking the rain off like a dog and laughing when his cap falls off. Dipper can only manage a weak smile, hanging back by the counter to avoid getting soaked; he's relieved to see a coffee cup in Soos's hand. "Pretty gross weather, huh? Stan's got these wicked little rain boots though - they have those little cartoon cars on them and everything! The little dude was so stoked to wear them, it was hard for me to be bummed by the rain."

Dipper's expression softens, "He coming over after school?"

"For sure! Little guy wants to make what he calls a ' _cybo_ ' for the shop."

"A what?" he smiles.

"Bro, just you wait, it's this wicked little robot thing and it makes all these noises and it spins around!"

Lucky for Dipper, it's hard to stay mopey with Soos, Melody, and their kid around. They're a good distraction, all so bright and cheerful no matter what. The knowledge that Stan (not his grunkle but Soos's kid, affectionately titled Stanley Junior) will be coming over is oddly soothing. Things are easier with him around: Dipper doesn't feel as much pressure to act okay and somehow, maybe for that reason alone, he's honestly calmer.

It's much the same with Soos. As soon as he comes in, it's like the pressure eases. Dipper's eyes follow his movements as he hangs up his jacket, fumbling slightly, and he sighs, shoulders relaxing. It's much easier with distractions.

"Oh," Soos says, halting on his way to the back of the shop, "I think someone left something on the step for Mabes, dude."

Dipper frowns, wanting to ask what, but Soos is already on his way, babbling about Stan's newest art project even as he disappears out of earshot.

* * *

Dipper is lonely. It's strange and pathetic, probably, considering how many people he sees on a daily basis, how many friends he has, both human and supernatural alike, but he feels so damn alone it makes him sick. He can't talk to anyone: his mother, his father, people his own age. He can relate more to naiads than he can to the guy that sits next to him in Lit or his partner in Bio. The more he does this work, the more distant from his own kind he feels, yet he's out of place with the supernatural, too.

His best friend is, and always will be, Mabel but his other dear friends, excluding Soos who is more family than anything else, are all nonhumans: Lauren the lampire (part lamia, part vampire; it's complicated and, according to her, involved really gross sex), Ammon the sphinx (who raps rather than poses riddles), and Pyronica - Pyronica, who he desperately, desperately wishes he wasn't friends with yet can't seem to shake (he suspects their relationship is even more complex than fucking a lamia, even).

He hasn't dated a human being since his sophomore year (in _highschool_ ) and he hasn't dated an actual mortal in six years. It's more than a little pathetic and he knows it.

Soos keeps asking him over for dinner, Mabel keeps trying to get him to visit her school for the weekend, Lauren constantly offers to hook him up with this "handsome" satyr she knows, and Dipper declines them all. He's really doing this to himself. He's just too tired for social interaction.

He's a lonely hypocrite and he's annoyed with himself.

* * *

There is a rose on the porch.

It's the most beautiful flower Dipper has ever seen, stem riddled with thorns and petals a brilliant red like fresh blood. It's the only bright spot in the dark of the day, the rest of the world so foggy and wet, and it makes him nauseous.

He looks around, mind racing, warily searching for some figure in the shadows. As ridiculous as it is, his mind immediately goes to Gideon of all people but he quickly decides it can't be; Gideon may still be an ass but he's long over Mabel. Then, he remembers the scrabbling of the gnomes this morning and groans.

"They better not want a prince, this time…" he mutters, ducking down to grab the rose against his better judgement.

Its scent is rich and cloying, it's so damn strong, and Dipper immediately holds it out at arm's length, scowling. Despite telling himself to be careful of the thorns, he, of course, knicks his thumb on one. Whining, he carefully shifts it into his other hand and he sticks his thumb into his mouth, sucking the blood away.

Glaring out at the empty forest, Dipper steps back inside the house and slams the door shut.

* * *

The rose goes in the garbage.

Dipper tells Mabel about it. She oohs and ahs about the possibility of some mysterious lover leaving flowers for her. He feels uneasy.

Still, both forget the incident rather quickly.

* * *

The next time the gnomes are in the trash, gobbling up chicken bones and gnawing in aluminum cans, it's dusk and Dipper is just about to go to bed when he hears their scuffling. Fumbling, he pulls on some jeans and runs out to confront them but gnomes are fast and as soon as they see him they're scampering in all directions, babbling and choking on sharp hunks of metal.

"Wait!" Dipper yelps, tripping over himself to get his hands on the closest gnome, this chubby, squat creature that can't keep up with the others, "I just want to ask you- Fuck, come here!"

Snatching up the little shit by grabbing him around the middle, Dipper holds him out, frowning when he starts kicking and trying to bite his arm. "Help!" he hisses, "The human has me!"

Immediately, Dipper is being pelted with rocks and pebbles, the gnomes all shouting and carrying on. This week hasn't been good for him.

"I just want to know who left the rose on the doorstep," he mutters, trying to keep the gnome still while not hurting him, "and to get you to stop getting in the trash."

The pelting stops and the gnomes gather, grumbling and casting furtive glances in his direction. Jeff finally steps forward, eyes sharp and hands clasped behind his back, and clears his throat, "Pines…"

"Jeff," he sighs.

"You want to know about," he leans in, eyes sliding to the forest, "the _rose_?"

That uneasiness returns, Dipper's stomach churning, "Just tell me."

Jeff glares at him weakly, huffing, "And why should we? We still haven't forgiven you for that incident with our queen!"

"Stop calling her that, Jesus…"

"We could have had her!" he continues, arms flailing, "She was perfect, too! Could've made her happy!"

"I doubt it…"

"Could have treated her better than that pig-"

"Stop talking about Gideon like you know about what happened…"

"Could have-" he takes a deep, shuddering breath and squares his shoulders; he looks like he's about to cry. Dipper, uncomfortable, looks away as Jeff tries to pull himself together. Finally, Jeff straightens up and fixes his glare on Dipper, "We didn't leave the rose! Now leave us alone!"

Dipper closes his eyes, dropping the gnome in his hands so it can scamper away on all fours. It's hard to talk to these guys - they make him exhausted - and he's suddenly too tired to even try. "Listen… uh," he squints, "Shmebulock is choking on a chicken bone…"

* * *

Dipper is having a better day. Class lets out early after their test finished up and he immediately heads home to work on his next article. The day is unusually warm, making walking home less unbearable. The town is bustling, halloween decorations are already going up, and Dipper can't help but smile. He stops by the diner and gets a pie to go, intending to bring it to Soos.

Maybe, he thinks, he'll finally take up his offer and have dinner with him and his family. He won't let himself work until the sun goes down and comes up again; he doesn't want to be lonely tonight. He considers asking Lauren about that satyr, even.

Waddles is waiting, snuffling at his feet happily, all dirty and slow. He's getting old now, and Dipper is honestly surprised he's lived this long, but he's still going strong.

"Hey big guy," Dipper smiles, stooping to scratch behind his ears. For a moment, Dipper simply pets him, letting Waddles nose at his pockets and chin, until he smells something other than earth and rain. Jerking his head in the direction of the porch, Dipper stands. A chill slides down his spine.

There's a rose waiting.

Again, it's full and bright, a blossom so perfect it seems unnatural but there aren't any thorns, not a single one. His heart is beating so wildly that he feels dizzy, almost as if he'll faint. Fear eats away his content and nostalgia.

Dipper looks around warily, eyes following the movement of the trees in the wind and the animals shifting in the dark. Swallowing thickly, he takes a step closer to the edge of the porch, narrowing his eyes, he calls, "Jeff? Jeff, if you left this I swear to fucking god, man…"

The forest is silent except for the wind whispering and the soft chattering of birds. It suddenly feels so much more sinister than it should. Dipper's heartbeat is so loud that he's convinced whatever it is watching him must be able to hear it.

He looks back to the rose and feels a sudden rush of anger. His stomach tight and palms sweaty, Dipper stalks closer, fists clenching as he raises his foot over the rose only to freeze. He fully intends to destroy it, to take all of his frustration out on this small show of what he can only imagine as affection, but he can't. He's torn, suddenly, between showing this being that he has no intentions of returning whatever strange affections they may hold and trying to be gentle. He can hear Mabel now: _How could you reject someone so harshly? C'mon, brobro…_

Dipper groans, taking a step back, and gazes down at the single rose with tired eyes. "They're watching," he mutters, not even phased by this realization. He's suspected as much from the very start, being as paranoid as he is, but the removal of the thorns seems far too precise to be something that happened by chance.

Glancing over his shoulder, Dipper very slowly kneels to pick up the rose. He makes a point of being gentle rather than harsh with the flower, eyes still flitting about in hopes of catching sight of whoever is leaving these. He turns to face the forest, frowning.

Still nothing.

"Listen, I'm not sure what-what it is you think you're going to get out of… leaving these here," he says loudly, cheeks slightly flushed at the thought of someone actually trying to romance him, "Mabel isn't here. Um…" his stomach swoops, voice quaking, "I'm not interested, too. I'm taken."

Uncertain, Dipper wavers there for a moment before stumbling down the stairs and setting the rose on the ground. He stands up straight, back rigid, and looks around once more before darting to the door and hurrying inside. His face is burning for absolutely no reason and he feels oddly flattered despite how fucking laughable this is.

It's a lie and it even _sounds_ like one but he's not sure what else to do at this point so he plows on, "I'm sorry. But… I'm taken."

Turning, Dipper glares into the forest, jaw closed tight. No one is there.

* * *

An orange rose is next. It's brilliant and soft, its petals wet with dew. It's early morning, the sky strangely beautiful, so gray and cold. A mourning dove is crying, clear and high, and Dipper is beginning to relax. It's weird, but the threat is easing away with familiarity.

"I told you," he says carefully, "that I'm taken."

The woods remain dark and quiet. Dipper swallows thickly, looking down at the rose, twirling it. The scent is softer this time.

"I'm dating Bill Cipher," he says suddenly - _stupidly_. It just comes out. "Um," he motions vaguely to the shack, "if the sigils and egocentric decor wasn't evidence enough…"

Dipper clears his throat, feeling his face burn when he finally realizes it could be _Bill_ doing this and fuck would he have a field day if he heard Dipper saying "I'm taken by Bill Cipher" to some suitor. Jesus, now that he thinks about it, Bill seems like a very likely culprit. When they broke up a year ago, he didn't exactly seem to understand that "it's over" means no more romance amongst other things. And it wouldn't be the first time Bill tried to win him back in some ridiculous way.

Honestly, roses on his doorstep are tame compared to the time Bill showed up in the middle of the night, nude, along with some bizarre sex toys, so maybe Dipper shouldn't be so concerned.

* * *

"There was another," he says hurriedly and his excitement is so pathetically obvious he wants to die. He's pacing around his room, stomach churning and nerves out of control. He feels like a kid, all worked up over nothing. The roses probably aren't even for him - it's not like he's a popular guy or particularly handsome. If anything, it's all for Mabel and he shouldn't feel a rush of disappointment at the thought but god he's so pathetic and lonely he can't help it.

The thought that someone could actually be interested in him shouldn't make him flush and smile but he has to bite his lips to keep from doing so. He should be wary and afraid but instead he's just jittery. He even questions if he should have just told whoever this is to come out instead of trying to get them to give up.

Mabel makes a confused noise and he burns with embarrassment, realizing he's been quiet, so he explains, "The rose. There was another today. Just now."

"Oooh! Oh! Oh my god!" she cries and there's a clatter on her end of the line, "There was? Was there a note or anything?"

"No. Nothing like that."

"Oh my god… You have a _secret admirer_ …"

Dipper's face is so hot it almost hurts. He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck nervously, eyes trained on the window, "It's not like that…"

"Mhmm…"

"Mabel…" he groans, trying to hide his own eagerness.

She's quiet for a second as she thinks, letting him squirm. After a moment of tense silence, Mabel huffs and he can hear her fall back onto her bed, the springs squeaking, "Dipper… You seem… really lonely. You know, it's okay to want this to be a proper guy who just wants to ask you out, right?"

Dipper sighs heavily to cover how his voice is tense, "Mabes…"

"And I bet it is!" she plows on, "I have a really good feeling about this!"

Standing in the light of the triangular window, Dipper's throat grows tight and his eyes sting with tears. This happens sometimes, sudden rushes of sadness that leave him breathless. He swallows down his sorrow but can't bring himself to speak. He wants to admit to her that he doesn't feel good about this - that he doesn't feel good about much of anything, anymore. He feels sick and alone, like he's destined not to feel good ever again.

"It's not Bill," Mabel says suddenly, as if sensing his discomfort.

He flinches.

"I can tell it's not Bill," she continues, voice firm, "I just know it's not him and it's not going to be anyone bad. It's someone new! Someone who really cares about you!"

Dipper narrows his eyes, not missing the insinuation that Bill was "bad" or "didn't really care" but doesn't say anything, knowing that Mabel honestly doesn't mean it that way. She always stood by him and didn't question his relationship with Bill, and she knows things may have ended but they didn't end _badly_. It just wasn't right.

Dipper gazes at the glass steadily, wetting his lips, and finally husks, "What if it was?"

Mabel is shocked into yet another moment of silence and, when she speaks again, her voice is soft, "Do you want it to be?"

Dipper considers it for a moment, biting his lip. "I don't know," he admits softly.

"Oh…"

"Yeah…"

The conversation ends soon after that.

* * *

Lauren is staring at Dipper like he's just grown a second head. Looking around the clearing, she leans across the stone slab they've been using as a table to play cards on and whispers, "Who are you and what have you done with Dipper Pines?"

Dipper smiles, thumbing the cards in his hands, and shrugs, "I guess… I'm ready now?"

Lauren grins from ear to ear, all sharp teeth and bright eyes. "I'm so glad! I know you're going to like him!" she chirps, drawing another card, "His name is August and he's just your type."

"I'll take your word for it."

She keeps glancing at him furtively, seemingly distracted even as she kicks his ass at poker. Dipper raises a brow and she looks away, pursing her lips, "You know… If you ever need anything, I'm here."

Dipper meets her eyes, all warm and golden, just as her tail curls around the base of the stone, its tip touching his leg very gently. Her lips quirk into a smile, sad and soft, and he finds himself smiling back.

There's yet another rose waiting when he gets home. It's absolutely gorgeous and for the briefest moment, Dipper finds himself breathless, thinking about how this person must be going to so much trouble to find these or even _make_ them. God only knows how such a beautiful thing could be created but he's sure it's not natural, that their forming was not without some form of magic.

His eye is drawn to the stem, again missing all thorns, and a small note tied there with ribbon. Dipper kneels, biting his lip so fiercely he tastes blood, and picks up the rose before standing once more. He touches the petals lightly, fingers shaking, before carefully opening the card attached.

His stomach drops.

Written there is _Dipper Pines_ in clean, crisp print and red ink.

The writing isn't Bill's - not his wild scrawl and chicken scratch, not anywhere near it - and this is all much too classy and drawn out for Bill's tastes. Dipper finds himself smirking down at the flower, chest tight with an emotion he can't begin to describe.

* * *

The roses keep coming, each just as beautiful as the last. Some are as red as blood, some are white and bright, and others are soft pinks like the flush of blood beneath pallid skin. All of them smell wonderful, their thorns have been carefully removed from their stems, and each is full and unfading. It's grotesque, in a way, the unnaturalness of them, but Dipper has never been one to shy away from the inhuman and strange.

It's not the strangest thing to happen in Gravity Falls and certainly not the most dangerous, meaning he can't stay afraid for long. He starts leaving them on the porch, unwilling to throw them away but also unwilling to bring them into his house; he draws the line there. It feels cruel to let them go to waste, he tells himself, ignoring the hope that he's allowed to grow within his heart. Despite the rainy weather and the cold, not a single one so much as wilts. They keep coming until he has just a few short of a dozen lined up and waiting for more, for the bouquet to be complete.

Soos regards them with a certain level of concern, surprising Dipper somewhat, but says nothing as if he can sense it's not his place. Melody says they're sweet and gazes at the quickly growing collection with warmth, serving to soothe some of Dipper's nerves. Mabel keeps telling he to stay safe but doesn't outright tell him she's worried or that she doesn't like this. He can tell she doesn't, can hear the frown in her voice. He resents her just a little because of it.

He feels it would be easier with someone else to talk to and ends up feeling even lonelier.

A few times he finds himself awake at night, watching the moonlight slide across the floor of the attic, Bill's eye at its center, thinking about summoning him. It would be so easy, the process one he knows like the back of his hand. Bill would come, would crinkle his eye and tease Dipper relentlessly, and the months since their last meeting would simply be forgotten - fading away as if it was just yesterday they were last together. Bill would be cold and cruel, would be a fucking ass, but he'd know how to make Dipper feel better in his own heartless way.

In the dark, Dipper tilts his head back and laughs until he cries, imagining what his old lover would say.

* * *

He has the dream, the one so very vivid with endless roses, and it's all coming back to him, that dream he was struggling to remember so many weeks ago. He sees Bill Cipher in his bed just as he has before, kneeling yet still regal, eyes sharp, the vision of elegance and terror.

It's never a good sign to dream of him. Never.

Dipper feels nauseous and dizzy. He feels like he's suffocating.

Bill's skin is still pale, the light of the moon casting his blue eyes in a pallid glow, and he's kneeling for Dipper, surrounded by rose petals. The rose is in his hand, elegant and perfect - inhumanly so, just like Bill. And just like Bill, their beauty is an illusion, Dipper realizes, just another twisted illusion.

Fingers bloody, Bill brings them to his lips, tasting it. When he pulls his hand away, gazing at the blood in awe, his lips are covered in blood that glints in the moonlight.

"Y'know," he begins, voice lilting in that teasing way that always grates on Dipper's nerves - just as it did the night before, "I really didn't mean for this to happen."

Dipper has had this dream of Bill appearing in his bed many, many times, but only once before have the roses featured heavily in his dreams. It's bizarre having this dream now, like deja vu, and he feels disoriented, fear creeping up his throat. What if this is the work of Bill? What if this is just a fucked up method of manipulation?

"I can still live here, right?" Bill asks, just as he did before. He looks so innocent - Dipper wants to strangle him. "Dipper?"

The scent of roses is even stronger than before, surrounding him, _choking_ him.

"Why roses?" he asks, independent of his thoughts, "Why are there so many… so many roses?"

Bill pouts, _just as he did before_.

"I want them out… want them gone."

Bill stands and rose petals spill from his fingertips and rise in his wake, drifting through the air. Brow knit, he steps closer, "But you said…"

So many roses. Flawless, inhuman. This is meant to allure him, just like Bill's form. This was just another attempt to draw him in.

Dipper, chest aching, feels on the verge of tears.

Bill touches Dipper's lips. Bill's face is all wrong, too soft, too listless. "Bill?"

"You said I could always stay," he whispers. Petals fall from his lips, brush across Dipper's skin when Bill touches it. Bill leans in, eyes dull and unfocused. Dipper can't breathe. "I want to always stay," Bill persists. He kisses Dipper, as stiff and unusual as before.

It's not Bill. It's not him, it's not the being Dipper spent every day with for years, not the one who would bite his lips and beg for cuddles, not the one who would crawl in bed at night and press himself to Dipper's back so he could snore right in his ear, not the one who followed him around in the woods.

Still, Dipper doesn't push him away.

* * *

Dipper wakes up to find his face pressed to rose petals and he screams, scrambling to get away only to get caught up in his sheets and fall into the floor. He hits his elbow hard and yelps, jerking when petals come raining down around him, all red and unnaturally pristine. He kicks the sheets away, crawling back, tears blinding him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he rasps, his elbow aching terribly, and sobs, voice broken and small, "Bill?"

But Bill isn't there, and he never was. It's still night, the sky pitch, and Dipper is all alone. There is no gleam of a smile, no cruel laughter, no teasing touch to the base of his neck. They made a deal and Bill may be a bastard and a liar but he's true to his word; he'll never come back again.

Bill isn't behind this.

The dream wasn't tangible, the colors weren't diluted, there were no eyes peering at Dipper's from every corner. That wasn't Bill's work and it shakes him. Better the devil you know, he tells himself, but he knows that it's not that. It was never that. He feels ashamed.

Dipper stands, slow and stiff, cradling his elbow close as to keep it from hitting anything else. Peering around the room, he half expects to find a golden eye staring back at him despite it all but there's nothing. No one is around, no one is watching; Bill promised not to watch.

There really aren't that many petals. When he steps closer to the bed, he finds a single stem from which they have fallen in the night, likely from his tossing and turning. Dipper takes the note tied to the stem, and thumbs it open, unsurprised to find the same neat, clean writing and red ink.

 _I have a proposition._

Dipper tears it in half and stalks out of the room, grabbing his journal as he goes. He feels like a fucking fool. He feels _gullible_. It's eating him up inside - his own naivety and desire - and he hates himself now more than ever.

He let this being get close and now here he is. It's been in his fucking house, it's looking for something, wants something from him. This was all simply to get something from him.

A goddamn _fool_.

Not a single one of his sigils have been disturbed, the chalk lines of each protection spell untouched, still intact. Unease prickles at the back of his mind and he feels as if he's forgetting something. Taking a quaking breath, Dipper closes his door and begins muttering incantations and hissing out expletives in between as his frustration grows. The tension and fear make him stumble over his words and his hand shakes as he traces, of all things, Bill's summoning circle on the door.

That's when he finally snaps out of it, resting his head against the wall as he breathes deep. "I swear to god," he rasps, "if this is some sort of fucking trick to get me to come running back to you…" His eyes are hot with tears and suddenly he's very aware of how cold it is, how the air burns his throat and his hair is standing on end.

He's so weak.

Jerking away, he heads downstairs, only in his boxers and a tee, fucking freezing. But he's too in his head to do anything about it. Attention telescoping, everything feels foggy. Even when he nearly falls down the stairs, tripping over himself, he can't snap out of it, can't get away fast enough.

Someone was in the house and not a single alarm went off, no spell was triggered. This place is built like a safe house, nothing should be able to breakthrough, not even Bill Cipher, perhaps the strongest adversary Dipper has ever faced. The annoyance he feels is even stronger than any fear, his face hot and fists clenched, and he knows he's numb and stupid with his anger but he can't hold back.

He's suddenly furious with Bill. Every little wrong, every hurt, everything is at the forefront of his mind and suffocating him. He wants nothing more than to see Bill and chew him out properly. Somehow, he knows Bill isn't behind this but he's still fucking burning with anger, his stomach a knot of anxiety and his heart pounding furiously.

"I swear to fucking god…" he mutters.

Downstairs, he grabs a bag of candles and herbs he keeps hidden in the dinosaur head by his grunkle's chair and stalks towards the front door. He needs to reinforce the sigils protecting the house, to check on the unicorn hair, and call his grunkles, but part of him doesn't want to go any further. He can't stand the thought of moving a damn muscle. His exhaustion is now sinking in, the fear coming with it, and he feels sick and pathetic.

So desperate for some attention he was willing to overlook the obvious threat - he's sick with himself. God, he's so fucking _sick_.

Standing in the middle of the empty shack, shivering it's so damn cold, Dipper wraps his arms around himself and cries out. Once the first tears come, he can't stop bawling, all broken sobs and hiccups. Clutching the bag to his chest, Dipper stands alone in his empty home, crying like a child. And then the doorbell rings.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Comments and other feedback are greatly appreciated!


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